Below Diocretes’ feet the jagged rock of the pathway narrowed to barely 6 yards-length. Its steepness signaled 'warning,' with strewn rock rubble and an endless precipice off to the left. His thoughts plummeted with the atmosphere forever into the darkened gorge below.

The thongs of his skirt slapped hard to hinder his laboured steps, and rubbed into his flesh with each push forward. Sweat mixed with the rawness of his skin; his tunic stained wet from the flow of his musk.

Knuckles clenched-tight the short-sword in his grasp and ignored the bloody scrapes from the rock face as he struggled on. His breath eased but the curses grew; even as the tortuous path turned the bend to finally level and widen.

“Damn you to hell,” he spit, as he reigned back abruptly. His short-sword thrust forward in mortal challenge as an extension of his troubled Soul.

Before him a figure stood serenely in simple powder blue robe - the colour of the robe matching his eyes and the thin hue of the sky. The Stranger’s gaze was fixed to some far event on the horizon. His arms hung in rest at his side supported on the air as if on Eiderdown.

He spoke, “Why do you oppose me Diocretes ?”

Diocretes choked on his words, “Oppose! oppose!! …"I shall be done of you. Is there no place you will not plague me?”

He lunged. His rage travelled the length of the short-sword to carry it - penetrating so easily through the body-flesh of the figure before him. Then with the ease of a hand from water his arm drew back…the glistening blade sucking crimson splashes in a neat bloody pattern before him.

A slight sway betrayed the stance of the Stranger. Diocretes stared in fascination as a pool of red spread towards his feet. In slow motion, the figure sagged to his knees, palms upturned as they met with the rocky ground and came to rest. Life force ebbed.

As the last breath expired from the Stranger's chest, his flowing locks parted to his beautiful gaze. His head tilted toward Diocretes and the Stranger smiled with Love, for him.

Diocretes spun from his trance as a roar in the sky behind him tore him from his nemesis. Clouds boiled and in seconds surged toward him like a geyser. The sky parted. Diocretes fell back in shock to see the vision of a beautiful armour-clad maiden in the firmament. She spoke to him.

“Diocretes, what is it you have assailed today?”

He caught his breath and stood forth with instinctive familiarity. He thought her name; Alana; ……and returned her question, “I fought at last for peace from a demon who followed me; and now it is done.”

“Oh! Diocretes,” said Alana, "Know you not, that it is ‘not’ done.. it is only begun. You were lost, my lord and you knew not. You have found your way, and 'still' you know not.”

Diocretes pointed hard with his short-sword behind him and turned to follow its direction. He staggered as he saw how the Figure was no longer there. No stains of blood, no sign of the Presence.

He turned again to his Vision, her eyes sparkling with Compassion. She spoke again. “Diocretes for so long you have fled the fear within. Now you face it and I await your thought of me, ….to be reunited again. There is no cause to battle more within.”

Diocretes turned again within his questioned belief, to check the Figure was indeed now gone. Balance tricked him and his outstretched palm fended his frame from the rock face as he staggered back.

His mind caught up to his Soul with a Snap!

No short-sword… No opponent… But, …..but ! ……and he felt a sharp pain at his side. His hands clutched to the sudden agony of sensation from his body. He looked down, as his fingers squeezed to stem the blood-flow from his wound. He felt the energy, drain from his body to earth and the strength sap from his legs.

He began to sink but was held firm by strong Loving hands. He looked and saw. It was his Vision, now at his side as flesh and beauty. She whispered softly to him now.

“Recover my Lord indeed, For now we may do the work we may do. It awaits us, as it always has done.”